Adrenaline
by MooseBlanket
Summary: Charlie runs into Oliver by chance at the Quidditch World Cup. He's blown away by how much Oliver has grown since they were together at Hogwarts, but soon learns that some things never change. Set during GoF.


**A/N: There's not enough Charlie/Oliver on this site, so I thought I'd add to it! Here's a oneshot about how a chance meeting led to the start of their relationship. Please read and review :)**

Sitting in the stands at the Quidditch World Cup, Charlie Weasley observed the dancing Veela with interest. While there was nothing in their appearance to suggest they were anything other than human, he was sure no human would ever be able to move like that. They were somewhat reminiscent of merpeople, he thought, gliding through the water with unparalleled grace.

Glancing up at the row behind him, he stifled a snigger. Ron looked like he'd just been clubbed over the head, and next to him Harry was attempting to climb up onto the railings. He wondered if he should make an effort to restrain him, but at that moment Hermione pulled Harry back, looking less than pleased. Charlie shook his head. That was adolescent boys for you…

Or not. Beside him, Bill was staring at the pitch, slack-jawed. Charlie elbowed him in the ribs, and he jerked forwards. "Hmm?"

He raised his eyebrows as Bill's punch-drunk expression slowly cleared.

"Dammit," Bill muttered, shaking his head. "They took me by surprise," he said defensively.

Charlie grinned. "Sure thing, mate."

Afterwards, Charlie was never able to say what his favourite part of the match was. The spectacular Wronski Feint which had everyone on the edge of their seats, that split second of confusion after Krum actually caught the snitch before the Irish stands erupted, or the moment when that first Veela burst onto the pitch launching fireballs and squawking furiously. He borrowed Ron's omnioculars so he could look more closely, admiring the powerful scaly wings and fierce curve of the beak.

The second the match was over Charlie ducked away, hoping if he was fast enough he'd be able to glimpse a full-blooded Veela up close coming out of the stadium. Hot on his heels were Fred and George. "Off to collect our winnings!" they exclaimed gleefully before running off. Up ahead, Charlie noticed a doorway and ducked inside, finding himself at the edge of a cordoned off section. Craning his neck, he could see a group of Veela, flapping their wings furiously as the Irish leprechauns laughed maniacally. A group of official-looking people were standing between the two parties trying unsuccessfully to defuse the situation. Charlie tutted. They clearly knew nothing about calming down an enraged creature. His breath caught in his throat as the Veela nearest to him began hurling fireballs at an almost superhuman speed. He took a step forward, and another, until…

"—Alright, mate, that's enough. I'm going to need you to step back outside."

Charlie shook the hand off his shoulder impatiently, anxious to catch another glimpse. The security guard followed his gaze. "Don't think you're the first one to try this, you know. I see it all the time. You liked their little halftime show, did you? Thought you'd come in here and try to impress them? Maybe bring a bleeding bouquet of roses or something."

Charlie stared at him blankly.

"Bloody menaces," the security guard grumbled. "Distracting the players, distracting the ref, and now I've got blokes like you coming in wanting a crack. Come on then." He began chivvying Charlie towards the door.

"I just wanted a closer look," Charlie protested.

"Yeah, yeah. And maybe cop a feel too, eh? I like my women a little less scaly myself, but hey, get 'em dancing and suddenly everyone wants a piece."

Charlie stopped abruptly. "I'm interested from a _biological_ standpoint!" he exclaimed indignantly. Unfazed, the security guard continued manoeuvring him outside. "Whatever you say, pal. Just stay out of sectioned off areas. And maybe set your sights a bit lower next time. Beautiful women ain't gonna be impressed by much, you know."

Charlie gaped after the guard's retreating back in disbelief.

"Funny, most guys I know would be more interested in the Veela _before_ their transformation."

Charlie whipped around, finding himself face to face with a tall, well-built man probably in his late teens or early twenties. He stared for a second, briefly unable to place those warm brown eyes or that familiar smirk.

"Oliver?"

Oliver Wood grinned and came forward, capturing Charlie in a brief embrace. "Been a while, huh?"

"I'll say." Charlie was stunned. He hadn't seen Oliver since he was at Hogwarts five years ago, and this handsome man in front of him was certainly not the same thirteen-year old boy Charlie had known, hopping up and down on his broomstick and grinning broadly every time he made a save, tailing Charlie around the castle like a shadow and always hoping to discuss Quidditch. His friends had taken to referring to Oliver as Charlie's little puppy because he'd followed him around so much, brown eyes always gazing up at Charlie with an expression of hero-worship.

"You and your magical creatures," said Oliver with a laugh. "I never did understand it."

The only time Oliver had ever worn an expression other than adoration around Charlie was when Charlie was in his final year and began to lose interest in Quidditch. "I think I want to be a dragon tamer," he'd confessed to Oliver. "Do you know in Romania they have the world's largest dragon reserve?" He stared dreamily at the ceiling of the Gryffindor Common Room, nearly missing Oliver's stricken expression. Shock turned to disappointment turned to betrayal. It had been weeks before Oliver had spoken to him again, conceding only because it made Quidditch practice very difficult when the Keeper refused to listen to the Captain.

Charlie smiled at the reminiscence. "Have you forgiven me yet?" he laughed.

Oliver grinned. "Well, I'm not thirteen any more."

"That's for sure," thought Charlie, the patented Weasley blush threatening to take over as he recalled the brief hug they'd just shared, the firm planes of Oliver's chest and Quidditch-toned arms clearly discernible.

"… And I like to think I have at least a slightly better understanding of life's complexities. It can't have been an easy decision for you." He looked at Charlie ruefully. "Still is a huge waste though. Imagine if that'd been you out there today on the pitch."

"Yeah…"

"Anyway, I've just been accepted into Puddlemere's reserve team!"

Charlie could tell Oliver had been bursting to say this, and for a second there was that old familiar expression; a beaming Oliver filled with pride running to tell Charlie the good news, over the moon when Charlie clapped him on the shoulders or ruffled his hair in congratulations, just like Oliver was one of his little brothers.

"Hey congratulations, Ol, that's terrific! Knew you'd do it!" Charlie clapped him on the shoulder out of habit, but felt strangely wrong-footed. For one thing, he was now reaching up slightly to do so since Oliver was significantly taller than him.

"Thanks!" Oliver beamed. "So how's Romania treating you, anyway? You're looking a bit more beat up than the last time I saw you." He ran a finger lightly over one of the burns on Charlie's arms and Charlie felt the hairs stand on end.

"Occupational hazard," he laughed, somewhat forced.

"Aha!" Oliver smiled. "I've got you all figured out, Charlie Weasley." He leaned in closer and Charlie's breath hitched.

"Yeah?" he said as casually as he could, though he had to clear his throat a couple times first.

"Yep. You're an adrenaline junkie."

"Maybe." Charlie grinned, trying to ignore the hammering in his chest. "I still say Quidditch is no less dangerous though. Remember that time you took a bludger to the head?"

Oliver grimaced. "Two minutes into my first ever game? Yeah, that's not something I'm about to forget."

"You were out cold for a week. I was scared to death."

"You were?" Oliver looked at him, expression unreadable. Charlie felt his face heat up.

"Only because I thought the rest of the team were going to murder me for letting that happen," he laughed somewhat shakily, trying to cover up his embarrassment.

"Hey!" Oliver shoved him jokingly. "I'd still rather take on a Quidditch team than a dragon. Okay both can fly, but at least Quidditch players are a lot smaller and there's no fire involved." He paused, as a thought occurred to him. "Actually, maybe you're not an adrenaline junkie. Maybe you just have a thing for fire."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Are you calling me a pyromaniac?"

"Maybe." Oliver grinned. "First dragons, now angry Veela. Unless of course the security guard had it right and you just wanted to see the beautiful women up close."

Charlie shrugged. "Not really my thing."

Oliver laughed. "Beautiful women aren't your thing?" He paused suddenly, looking at Charlie searchingly. "Yeah, me either," he said finally.

"You're… ? Um… " Suddenly Charlie felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Yeah." Oliver ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Charlie had long ago learned was something Oliver did when he was nervous.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Uh, and you…?"

"Yeah."

"Right."

Charlie stared at the ground, wondering how this suddenly got so uncomfortable. He'd felt like a tongue-tied schoolboy from the start, heart fluttering unpleasantly in the presence of this handsome soon-to-be Quidditch star, acutely aware that the tables had turned and Oliver no longer looked up to him as his Quidditch hero and older, wiser big brother. The four years between them at Hogwarts had seemed like an immense distance, yet here they were now, two adults speaking as equals. Except Charlie didn't feel equal to him at all.

Oliver, for his part, was staring at him curiously. "Have you told your family?"

"Yeah. Course." Charlie smiled slightly. "Mum kept harping on at me about bringing a girlfriend home and tried to set me up with the daughters of all the people she knew. One day I couldn't take it and just told her." He chuckled. "I was hoping it would make her stop, but now she just asks me when I'm planning on getting a boyfriend."

Oliver ran another hand through his hair. "Hope it goes that well for me."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "They wouldn't actually have a problem with it, would they?"

"Nah, shouldn't be too bad." He laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "I mean, I'm not worried about being disowned or anything nuts like that. My dad's just kinda macho, I think a lot of the time it comes with the territory when you're a Quidditch pro. I'm mainly worried he's just going to be a bit disappointed."

Charlie frowned. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Yeah, definitely." Oliver waved a hand. "Totally fine." He still looked a little troubled though, and Charlie reached out and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

"So, I'll be home for a few weeks before I go back to Romania. We should catch up sometime."

Oliver smiled. "Definitely."

"Dinner?" Charlie felt suddenly, unexpectedly bold. Maybe it was knowing that he still had the ability to cheer Oliver up and calm him down, much like he'd done so many times after a particularly bad defeat or right before a big game. Or maybe it was that beneath this much older, hot, successful new Oliver who made Charlie's stomach flip there was still a hint of that eager little boy Charlie knew so well, and still some tiny part of Charlie that had retained Oliver's respect and even admiration.

"Sure." Oliver's eyes were wide. "Like… a date?"

"Yeah." Charlie smiled nervously, and the beam he got in response made his heart soar. "A date."

Heart still hammering in his chest, Charlie could feel his grin stretch from ear to ear. He wondered if maybe Oliver was right. Seems like he was an adrenaline junkie after all.


End file.
